


Black and Blue

by ellievolia



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blowjobs, Eyeliner, Face-Fucking, M/M, PWP, of sorts anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, so, worst title ever, please excuse me. PWP ficlet written because of Twitter and all the crazy amazing people over there. No plot; there's an Halloween party, Steve dressed as a Thundercat, and Clint wearing eyeliner does things to Phil that end up in a quick and dirty blowjob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, so very sorry. I should thank everybody, really, so, THANKS EVERYBODY! Mostly SydneySussex who took my feels directly in his feels.

Coulson’s never been a fan of Halloween parties; self-conscious enough that he never went for the most stupid costumes, which always ended up being the best ones anyway. At least, it was that way through college, and after that, well. Rangers don’t really do Halloween, if it doesn’t comprise of camo paint in the middle of a war zone. 

But Tony Stark doesn’t care about Phil Coulson’s feelings about a particular holiday, and his whole plan consisted of organising a stupidly decadent party just to see Captain America loosen up. And now, now Phil is walking through a crowd that doesn’t even recognise him because he’s wearing jeans and one of his threadbare white shirt that he usually only wears when doing DIY at home. He’s already spotted Pepper, wearing a full Jedi gown, and Natasha going for the opposite of her usual self in a Frankenstein makeup, and, in walking around like he owns the place, Director Fury, in a full Iron Man get-up.

Whoever said the man doesn’t have a sense of humour obviously never met him on Halloween. 

Phil’s letting his beer bottle sweat over his fingers as he observes the scene in front of him from a corner of the room, and, wait, is that Rogers dressed as a Thundercat? When Clint appears right in front of him, leaning on a hand against the wall next to Phil’s head, and possibly, Phil stops breathing for a second, and not just because he feels like he was being stalked. 

He has _no idea_ what Clint is supposed to be dressed up as. But he’s wearing the tightest of black shirts Phil has ever seen, a pair of leather pants that were probably sawn around him, a spiked _collar_ , and most importantly, eyeliner. Lots and lots of dark eyeliner around his eyes, making them look the most startling blue Phil has ever seen. And, seriously, the eyeliner, it’s never been a thing for Phil, but it might just start to be, because the way Clint wears it, with assurance and the glint in his eyes that tells Phil he knows he looks good with it, it might be the sexiest thing Phil ever encountered, and he works with superladies on a daily basis. 

There are words exchanged, something about the party being nice and imaginative with their costumes; Phil follows and answers when prompted, but he’s truly not thinking about anything he says, or Clint says, and it must show, because quickly enough, Clint eyes the door.

“Wanna get out of here?” He asks quickly, his eyes dropping to Phil’s lips, and fuck, Phil doesn’t care anymore, he nods. 

This thing between them hasn’t been made public, neither of them pushing the other for it, but Phil guesses they’re sort of obvious, leaving the room quickly, dropping their drinks on a table they walk by. Fuck, this thing, they don’t even talk about it really, not that Phil cares right now, going up the stairs of the mansion two at a time, to finally stumble into Clint’s room, kicking the door closed with practiced ease. 

Clint is looking at him, lips parted and slightly out of breath, like he’s getting off on just watching Phil. He narrows his eyes for a second, considering Phil as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“What is it? Is it the collar? Or the leather? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a leatherman, but maybe you’re not telling me everything.”

Phil steps forward, closer to Clint, and runs two fingers along the side of his face, from temple to chin, tipping his head up. “The eyeliner.” No point in lying. 

Clint’s eyes widen slightly, and then he grins, hands reaching for the skin under Phil’s shirt. “Really?”

“Really.” Phil could wax lyrical about how it makes Clint’s eyes pop, or how it makes him look a little filthy, depraved, how it makes his lips look redder; he doesn’t say anything, though, just brushes his thumb under Clint’s right eye. There’s a smudge there. 

A second of hesitation, but then it’s gone, and Clint is sliding off the bed, to his knees, going for the button on Phil’s jeans right away. “Gonna have to look into my eyes, then,” he says, with a rough voice that betrays his thoughts. 

And this is how, somehow, Phil ends up in Clint’s room with Tony’s Halloween party going on downstairs, with his jeans around his ankles and his eyes locked with Clint’s as Clint slides his lips slowly, so torturously slowly, around Phil’s cock. There’s a hand fisted in Phil’s shirt, saliva precum making the length of his cock shine in the overhead light when Clint moves back, and Clint’s eyes, dark, serious, lustful, the eyeliner making them darker, and Phil can’t look away. He’s stuck there by the power of Clint’s gaze and the amount of want there, black and blue, like a bruise expanding inside Phil’s chest. 

It’s all slightly overwhelming, the way Clint pins him with his eyes, keeps him from moving a muscle, taking complete control over the rhythm, the speed, the depth, everything and Phil’s knees are buckling, but he holds on, his fingers closing around Clint’s hair, who smiles up at Phil, pulling back when Phil’s hips start to move on their own accord. 

“Close?” He whispers, licking a stripe up Phil’s cock, still looking intently at him, his eyeliner smudged with sweat. Phil nods, a broken sound leaving the back of his throat, something completely helpless. When he wraps his hand around Phil’s cock, sitting back on his heels, looking expectantly at Phil, the question on the tip of Phil’s lips finds an answer, and, okay, _fuck_. 

Clint closes his eyes when Phil comes, and it’s almost impossible to bear, the sort of blissed out look on his face as he leans forward, allowing Phil to come all over his face, his darkened eyes, smudging the makeup further. Phil moans and groans, his knees giving out under him, because Clint is _too much for him_ , always, and he’s the best challenge Phil has ever had to face, and right now he looks like his filthiest, licking come off his lips, some in his hair, over his cheeks, in his eyelashes. It shouldn’t look half as good as it does, but god, it does, and Phil pulls Clint in for a kiss, not caring for a second about the state of him. 

Clint laughs into the kiss when Phil reaches out for his own belt, shaking his head. “No need,” he says softly, his eyes hooded when he rolls his hips, groans. The bastard came in his pants and Phil has never met anyone hotter, anyone he wants more than Clint Barton. 

“Eyeliner more often?”

Phil shakes his head, licks at his own come on Clint’s cheek just to feel him shiver. “Keep it for big occasions.”


End file.
